


Dance on Ice

by Sleepless_Malice



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Ice Skating, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pair Dance, Slow Burn, Vicchan Lives, pair skating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8818219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Malice/pseuds/Sleepless_Malice
Summary: They mirror each other’s moves until they seem to move, to exist as one, never straying far from the other just as the rules dictate. The dance is perfectly choreographed, each step matching the beat of the music, even its theme, which now Yuuri truly understands. From out of nowhere Victor’s hand is on his cheek for the blink of an eye, wandering down his throat, his chest. Instead of concentrating on what he does, Yuuri allows himself to get lost in the sensuality of Victor’s touch, resembling a lover’s caress, allows himself to be enveloped by the divinity of the music.  [from Chapter03]





	1. Chapter 1

**Dance on Ice**

*****

When Yuuri enters Victor’s room, he finds him sitting in front of his laptop, watching something on YouTube with headphones in his ears. A smile creeps over Yuuri’s face: is he doing it so as not to disturb his slumber, grant him his well-deserved rest? It must be so.

Victor sitting in front of his laptop isn’t out of the ordinary, even if it is long past midnight. Sometimes, Yuuri thinks they are married. On other days, he thinks Victor is married to his smartphone. At night, Yuuri sometimes dreams that Victor is married to him. The ridiculous idea, now thought in Victor’s presence, is enough to make his stomach flutter. Yuuri is wearing nothing more than sweatpants and a t-shirt, bright blue with some ridiculous print on its front.

Well, it’s actually more than Victor is wearing.

Appreciatively, Yuuri lets his eyes roam over Victor’s bare back, along his arms where muscles flex each time he clicks on the mouse. It is not that Yuuri hasn’t noticed before. Of course he has. Over the past months he noticed many things about Victor, pleasant things, surprising things.

Sexy things.

The sight Victor presents is all it takes to tint Yuuri’s cheeks a bright scarlet. “What are you doing?” he asks finally, slumber hazing his voice.

Victor turns around immediately, glancing up at him, smiling his most brilliant smile. Perhaps to distract Yuuri from his hands, which are about to cover the countless notes lying in front of him. Indeed, he is successful, briefly at least, because Yuuri stares at him in awe. Victor’s eyes are even bluer in the glare from the screen than they usually are, strangely piercing, yet gentle at the same time. Inhuman, yes, but isn’t Victor in his entirety somehow not from this world? From underneath the table he hears Makkachin snoring softly, undisturbed by his presence. At the beginning, the dog would spring to immediate attention. Not snarling or baring teeth, no, not Makkachin, the gentle soul, but he is protective of his owner nevertheless. By now, Makkachin is entirely comfortable when Yuuri is around, not even bothering to lift his curly head.

“I thought you were asleep,” comments Victor, catching Yuuri staring. Naturally, he must notice Yuuri’s blush but he doesn’t comment on it, although Yuuri knows he thinks it quite amusing to watch. Instead he sips at his tea, green tea with grape flavor, bought in one of Kyoto’s posh tea rooms. Yuuri is fairly certain Victor drinks it for the smell alone.

“I was,” says Yuuri with more confidence he has expected. Why he isn’t sleeping anymore, he doesn’t know. Not that it mattered too much, when instead he can feed his eyes on Victor’s half-naked body. In the sudden urge to touch his bare skin, he walks towards where Victor sits, placing his crossed arms against his friend’s shoulders. “However, this wasn’t what I asked. What are you doing _now_?” His breath must be so close that Victor feels it against his skin, he hopes he does. Needless to say, that Yuuri’s cheeks are burning even brighter when he can feel the warmth radiating from Victor’s body.

“Alright, alright,” says Victor in his typical nonchalant manner. Is there a twitch of nervousness in his voice, Yuuri can’t help but wonder? “I’m working on something.” Working too long, too late, thinks Yuuri as Victor yawns and rubs his tired eyes.

Yuuri leans in even further, looking over Victor’s shoulder to catch a glimpse on Victor’s scribbles. There are weird circles drawn all over the papers, he notices, with additional Cyrillic letters he cannot read. That must change, Yuuri takes a mental note, not for the first time since Victor is his trainer. It is then when a strand of silver hair distracts him from the notes, hair he feels obliged to neatly tuck it back behind Victor’s ear. “You’re always working on _something_. What are you working on _tonight, what_ have you been working on the _past nights_?” If Victor thinks he didn’t notice, he truly is an idiot. One of Yuuri’s biggest strengths is observing even the tiniest things. It is like this since his childhood days.

Victor scoffs in played annoyance. “I never knew you were so nosey.” When he brings his hands towards Yuuri’s own, enveloping them gently, he offers an explanation at last. “A surprise.” Well, it’s a Victoresque sort of explanation. So not an explanation at all.

Yuuri’s eyes begin to sparkle as they often have since Victor has been living with him, as they always do when he’s excited. At times he thinks there’s no other who is so overly fond of surprises as he is; sometimes, he thinks Victor knows this well, and takes advantage of it. In excitement he begins to squeak, his voice shrill in Victor’s ear, who can feel the warmth of his breath tickling the hairs on his neck. “What sort of surprise?”

Victor smirk turns into a wide grin. “If I tell you it’s no surprise anymore.” Instead of saying more on the matter immediately, he leans his head against Yuuri’s chest, watching him intensely for many moments until he has drunk in his fair share of Yuuri’s burning cheeks. Victor’s only outward reaction is a slight widening of his eyes, but it’s enough to make Yuuri’s knees grow weak. “Get some sleep, Yuuri. You are tired and sore from today’s training when you did so well. I will, too. When tomorrow comes your surprise will await you.”

“Promise?” asks Yuuri, eyebrows raised above his glasses.

There is a deliberate pause. “Promise!”

Naturally, Yuuri barely sleeps that night.

Naturally, Victor doesn’t sleep at all.

*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to this chapter's beta reader [vaityadil](http://vaityadil.tumblr.com/). All remaining mistakes are mine.


	2. Chapter 2

*****

With the first sunshine streaming through the open window, the pencil falls out of Victor’s tired aching hand; it’s done and complete at last, reason enough to smile broadly, reason enough to make his stomach jump in terrible excitement.

Something in his chest aches, fiercely and sweetly.

The emotions do not scare him.

And that scares the hell out of him.

*****

“Makkachin?”

The dog inclines his head, a smile beginning to spread across his snout. There are people who say dogs cannot smile. It’s the biggest lie of all to Victor, because Makkachin does exactly this whenever he feels extraordinarily loved, or is extraordinarily happy and relaxed. The corner of his mouth lift upwards until it nearly is as if he is grinning, and his eyes begin to sparkle, not so unlike Yuuri’s, when he is frantically excited. To Victor, it’s the memory of Yuuri that is making him smile now; the memory of Yuuri’s scarlet cheeks; his impressive brown eyes; the way he dances across the ice.

“Makkachin,” he repeats, and now the dog springs to attention. “Come, let’s wake up Yuuri, shall we?”

Upon Victor’s excited voice Makkachin’s head shoots upright, and he jumps from Victor’s couch, wagging his curly tail against Victor’s legs frantically after he stretched with a hearty yawn.

“Poor thing probably slept as little as I did,” Victor thinks.

Makkachin is sensible to Victor’s restlessness, of late worse than ever. He ruffles Makkachin’s soft coat with his fingertips when they step outside his room towards Yuuri’s near-by.

Silently, with utter care not to ruin the first surprise of the day, Victor opens the door to Yuuri’s room, whispering to Makkachin again: “Go, and wake Vicchan and Yuuri up.”

It’s a foolish thing he does, Victor is well aware of, and he feels remotely ridiculous for doing it – and then he does not, because Yuuri’s expression upon being woken up like this is priceless, and it’s easier to blame the dog for any caused inconvenience. Still, it’s hard to suppress the giggles forming in his throat. He is granted to watch Yuuri’s slumber, which is always good and healthy, for only a few moments. To watch the soft rise and fall of his chest, to watch the little twitch of his nose. Over the past few months it became one of his days’ delights. As if Makkachin inquires his owner’s seriousness, he looks up to him again before it obeys Victor’s command, rushing into the tranquil room.

 

*****

With a loud bark of excitement Makkachin jumps into Yuuri’s bed, burying his head in the soft blankets, before he sits upright and stares down at Yuuri with those large brown eyes. Despite his age, Makkachin still looks like a puppy; gentle, and soft, sweetly adorable, missing the sharp features of other adult dogs. Well, so does Vicchan. All poodles do. It does take exactly one second until Yuuri’s own dog follows Makkachin’s example, barking loudly to engage Makkachin in an excited play.

Yuuri groans in tired annoyance. “Makkachin! Vicchan! Get out.”

Naturally, the furry beasts do not even think about it, knowing well that he does not quite mean it. He never does. Neither does Victor.

Instead of obeying his owner’s command, Vicchan chases Makkachin out of the bed, with the result that Makkachin jumps on the bed from the other side again, deliberately ignoring Yuuri’s legs beneath the blanket on which he lands his jump.

How often they both tried to restrict them, Yuuri has lost count already. The thing is: one can never be cross with them. Not when they look up under their short lashes, head inclined as if they wish to beg for pardon and understanding without words. With yet another groan Yuuri sits upright, bending his knees so that he can rest his chin on them. Only then, Yuuri’s gaze lands on Victor.

Victor, in all his muscular glory, leans against the door frame, arms crossed in front of his bare chest, because the tracksuit top, one of Yuuri’s tracksuit tops with the Japanese flag sewed on it, isn’t closed at its front. When Yuuri realizes that it is his very own piece of clothing he wears, his heart nearly stops beating. “He missed Vicchan,” says Victor, shrugging, with a twinkle of mischief glittering in his expressive blue eyes.

“As I miss you sometimes,” thinks Yuuri _._ With _sometimes_ being the greatest lie of all.

He thinks of him quite often.

Well, no. Constantly.

Despite the innocence of the early morning, which in fact isn’t so early anymore as Yuuri soon finds out, an odd blush begins to spread across Yuuri’s cheek. “Uhm… I.. it appears like it.” Just as before, the dogs still chase each other across the room, barking excitedly, when for Yuuri the world around him freezes.

“Why just can’t I stop thinking about him in such a way?

In such a highly unprofessional way?

He’s my coach, my support, all the strength I have!” Yuuri thinks.

Fact is, of late, and more often than not, Yuuri struggles to keep these thoughts at bay.

The smile on Victor’s face persists. He never seem to be bothered much by Yuuri’s awkward insecurity, or, at least, doesn’t show it.  “Did you sleep well?” Through a cloud of hazy thoughts Yuuri hears Victor’s voice, soft and smooth, like music in his ears. When he’s tired and sore from long hours of training it often happens that he falls asleep to the sound of it.

“Yeah, I did.” Not long, but good.  

Somehow, today Victor looks tired, and then he does not. In his head, Yuuri rephrases his thoughts. He doesn’t look tired, not exactly at least, but the _does_ look differently than usual with the silver hair still ruffled and out of place, dark wrinkles framing his eyes. Yuuri inclines his head, embracing Vicchan who finally calmed down with one hand, fumbling for his glasses with the other. “Have you slept at all?”

“A little.”

A playful whine dances through the air. “How little is little?”

“Very little.”

Yuuri rises, blanket still wrapped around him. The perfect opportunity for Vicchan to bite in the blankets end, tugging at it until Yuuri lets go of it in silent defeat. “So not at all.” It’s rather a statement than a question, one Victor doesn’t even try to deny it.

“Yes.” Victor entirely does not seem to regret the lack of slumber.

He always looked up to Victor. In many ways. Right now, he does it in the literal sense of the word. “Why?”

The words from Victor’s lips seem to fall between the small space persisting between their faces. “Because of you.”

Yuuri is rendered speechless until the beauty of the moment dissolves to naught when Victor continues. “Anyways, we’re late already for today’s training. Let’s grab some breakfast near the ice castle before we start to form the world’s best skater.”

“And my surprise?” It’s the best Yuuri can think of when his mind is lost in a maelstrom of unsaid implications.

Victor cuts him short with a brilliant, dazzling smile. “Will await you there.”

Immediately, Yuuri’s face falls, his disappointment visible, because Victor changes the intonation of his voice. “Hush,” he responds, much gentler than before, placing a finger upon Yuuri’s lips, “don’t ever question your trainer’s sincerity.”

*****

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse me, but Victor wearing Yuuri's clothes gives me life!
> 
> Thanks to [NelyafinweFeanorion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NelyafinweFeanorion) who's equally infected by YOI for beta reading this chapter. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. This chapter was my original idea for this story, hitting me so hard when I listened to some infamous 80ies dance song (Flashdance if anybody is curious) whilst driving the car. Originally, I planned to write it as a one-shot, and then realized it wasn’t working for me, because I’d like to explore their characters and the precious relationship further. That’s the reason why it became a multi-chapter fic. 
> 
> 1\. I did figure skating for almost 10 years in my younger days, and after I quit (had to quit) due to injury I trained the kids; choreographing Victor’s dance brought all these memories back and admittedly, I got lost in doing so. 
> 
> 2\. This said, Victor is dancing to George Bizet’s famous aria “L’amour est un oiseau rebelle” [listen to it on youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K2snTkaD64U&index=12&list=PLV1HiJ5VJvbkuVYUlO0vwjH6IRz39IgDU) because the music and the text fits perfectly for what he (I) had in mind (translation of the lyrics and some more information about why I chose the song in the back notes).

 

*

“Yuuri,” Victor shouts across the rink to catch Yuuri’s attention. By then, Yuuri is close to exhaustion, his legs and feet a burning hell, as Victor’s commands were unforgiving throughout the entire training session. A session lasting extraordinarily long. Not that Yuuri would ever complain, no. He merely wonders why, and naturally, in the back of his mind the idea of a surprise still says hello every once in a while. He’s been waiting long enough, he decides. With easy steps he slides towards the open space in the rink, praying that he’s released for the day.

A mistaken assumption as he will soon find out. As Yuuri steps from the ice onto the rubber mats, Victor throws one of the competition costumes into his direction. A silver gown, glittering obscenely in the unnatural light of the halogen lamps of the ice castle.

Quizzically, Yuuri looks at him, inclining his head. “Uhm .. what is this?” he asks, mildly surprised when actually he wants to have an answer for the why. Victor seems to understand him anyway. “An experiment,” he offers, “I wonder if you perform better when you are out of your training clothes.”

With every moment that passes, Yuuri’s heart sinks further. Did he perform _that_ bad?

Victor’s so-called experiment wasn’t true in the past. Usually he performed _better,_ much better wearing ordinary clothes. Still he does as he is bidden. It’s simply not in his nature to question Victor’s choices ** _._**

 “Alright,” he mutters, before he disappears in the corridor.

 

*

As he returns from the cubicle, he doesn’t trust his vision, rubbing his eyes in sheer disbelief. Some time in between, whilst he wedged his still overweight body with much dismay into the flimsy nothing, Victor got changed as well. The suit he wears is sharp, pitch-black with a blinding white shirt underneath, and very tight, basically everywhere, and therefore emphasizing the well-defined muscles hidden away (not that Yuuri hasn’t seen them, though). With his silver hair and sparkling eyes he looks like the prince who stepped right out of a modern fairy tale.

“Victor!” Yuuri cries out in surprise, hands flying to his mouth. Victor, standing there in all his glorious arrogance is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Sure, he saw Victor wearing a suit on TV so often he lost count, admiring him from afar, but never in reality. However, what startles him most is that Victor is wearing skates. He almost never does. 

An easy explanation falls from Victor’s lips. “Sometimes actions are superior to words.”

Yuuri finds himself nodding. And then staring bluntly. Victor lets him for a while before he turns and walks towards the rink.

The grace Victor emanates the moment he steps onto the ice is breathtaking; beautiful in a way that makes Yuuri dizzy, surreal even. When Victor skates he completely dissolves into the music, becomes one with the ice underneath his feet. He never thinks about the moves, his arms and legs moving into the positions themselves with insane accuracy, something Yuuri wishes he could do.

Words of encouragement flitter through the air. “Yuuri, come on now! Join me.”

As always, Yuuri obeys.

Feeling like a fool Yuuri finds himself standing in the middle of the ice, looking at Victor who does, well, nothing at all, standing several meters away with his back directed towards Yuuri.

“Victor?” Yuuri asks in all his insecurity, probably quietly enough for Victor to not even be able to hear him.  Sweaty from the training and wearing nothing more than the costume Victor gave him, he shivers. Indeed it’s so cold in the hall that Yuuri can see the breath in front of his face.

Just as he opens his mouth to complain anew, out of nowhere, music begins to play. Yuuri faintly recognizes the tune; it’s not part of his performance, nor of any performance he ever saw Victor skate. Within the very first beats, Victor’s body becomes steel, hard and demanding, and almost immediately the toe pick of his left skate shoots into the ice at his side, the matching arm akimbo. However, it is the look Victor gives him over his shoulder, distinct and challenging with narrowed eyes, that makes Yuuri’s knees go weak. It only lasts momentarily, with Victor now stepping backwards in accordance with the highlights of the music. One, two, three – eleven steps, filled with an unspeakable arrogance, before he turns completely, and faces Yuuri who stands there with twitching hands. The posture, the movements, just everything, is the perfected Eros, the seduction incarnate, and the counterpart to Yuuri’s interpretation.

With the music speeding up a little, Victor twirls in front of him, and around him in expansive, yet slow movements, skating forwards, backwards, throwing clockwise back and forward crossovers into his routine every now and then, and all Yuuri can think upon Victor’s dance of arrogance is: _Casanova._ why Victor does it, he has not the faintest idea, doesn’t dare to allow his mind any further questions , but this doesn’t keep him from  blushing, because this is exactly what is happening to Yuuri’s face. In one smooth movement Victor bends one knee and lets his other leg slide over the ice, a drag, as the commentator would praise the figure, before he effortless stops in front of Yuuri, who – naturally – stares at him with open mouth. Victor merely smiles, with his lips and eyes, and takes Yuuri's hand into his own.  In shock, Yuuri almost loses his balance when the touch of Victor’s warm skin sends tiny sparks of excitement through his body. “Dance with me?” proposes Victor with insecure politeness as he brings Yuuri’s hand towards his lips, where skin meets skin for the briefest of moments. Yuuri is reduced to a quivering mess, not understanding what any of this is all about. “Uhm.. Victor?” Victor lowers Yuuri’s hand, but doesn’t let go, and automatically, Yuuri’s gaze follows down until he feels Victor’s finger against his chin, directing his face upwards. Their eyes meet, and only then Yuuri sees the incredible nervousness, so extraordinary unlike Victor, flitting through them.

Slowly, with controlled steps he encircles Yuuri until he stands behind him, Yuuri’s arm resting now against his own stomach with Victor’s hand splayed over it. “Dance with me.”

Surprise and shock hazes over Yuuri’s eyes.

“I will,” Yuuri hears himself say, distracted by the closeness of Victor’s breath against his neck.

When they stand opposite each other again, Victor demands: “Watch me. Always. Don’t ever take your eyes off me.” With that, he takes a step backwards, and then another, pulling Yuuri with him. “Let me guide you, if only for today.”

Naturally, in all his helpless confusion, Yuuri doesn’t understand the implications of Victor’s words, perhaps doesn’t even want to comprehend, being afraid of what this would mean.

Victor’s arm encircles his waist as the speed finally increases, at least a little. They are next to each other, dancing a pair forward crossover with Yuuri being the smaller of them skating outside. The element is part of the anti-clockwise circle, where they use the entire space of the rink. To Yuuri, who has no experience at all with ice dancing, it’s amazing that he hasn’t stumbled over his own feet yet, because concentrating with Victor being so close nearly is an impossible affair. As the music swells, Victor increases the pace and slows down just in time, catching Yuuri by the waist to spin him round with an expression of effortless concentration. The backs of Yuuri’s legs burn already, and he winces as he tries to keep up with Victor’s speed, his heartbeat ringing in his ear. Step sequence after step sequence follows; serpentines from one end of the rink to the opposite end, bracket turns and twizzles, not extraordinarily complex but challenging nevertheless.

What they do is certainly the most beautiful thing Yuuri has ever experienced, and despite his exhaustion he wishes for the dance would never end. The grin that spreads across Victor’s face as his fingertips graze along Yuuri’s side is infectious, perfectly matching the grace he carries throughout their dance. It’s then, with Victor facing him, that at last Yuuri stumbles over his own feet clumsily, with Victor catching him just in time. On any other occasion he would avert his eyes from Victor, yet Victor tells him not to. To deny Victor anything is impossible for Yuuri, no matter how insane it may be.

“Do not overthink, Yuuri Katsuki,” whispers Victor, pulling him close against his body by the waist. One of his hands falls to Yuuri’s thigh whilst the other still holds his waist, before their fingers twine anew. Yuuri doesn’t know quite what to say or if he should say anything at all. Best not, he decides, as often opening his mouth just causes more embarrassment. Instead he focuses, tries to focus, on his steps, tries to connect to the ice beneath his feet so as not to stumble again. Causing disappointment, and dealing with the imaginary consequences, is one of Yuuri’s greatest fears. To lose Victor as his trainer, his friend, is the greatest fear of all.

There are, thank god, no jumps, no pirouettes, no lifts in Victor’s choreography, for Yuuri’s sake,  indeed it is a simpler comparison of what the professional pairs  skate in competitions; those flashing dances of fake glitz and glamor, still enough to make his heart thump with joy, because what he and Viktor do isn’t fake, it’s breathtakingly real. They skate for pure enjoyment, for the sake of skating, with nobody watching them. Not even Yuko is present today.  The sudden realization hits Yuri: this is the surprise Victor was working on during so many nights, the reason he barely slept.

“It can’t be,” he thinks, mouth falling open in comprehension.

It is.

It’s Victor doing what he is best at: expressing his emotions on the ice, dancing the gratitude of their friendship, the love he feels together with the one he admires. A silent confession, the most beautiful and charming thing to exist.

“Victor,” mumbles Yuuri, and then a little louder, increasing the grip he has on Victor’s hand, when everything falls into place. The choice of music, Victor’s nervousness, the kiss upon the back of his hand. “Victor!” Only a couple of days ago Victor’s exact words were: “The dance is the hidden language of the soul.” Words, he didn’t understand then,  words he still doubts deep inside.

Yuuri, cheeks red with exertion, and eyes brimming with tears of happiness feels like crying. Victor doesn’t answer verbally, he merely smiles. Dazzling, and arrogant – seductive.

Where before hesitation still reigned, he now lets go completely, allowing Victor to perfectly synchronize their movements, allows Victor to seduce him the way he has dreamt so often late at night. _The silver haired Casanova. His Casanova._ They mirror each other’s moves until they seem to move, to exist as one, never straying far from the other just as the rules dictate. The dance is perfectly choreographed, each step matching the beat of the music, even its theme, which now Yuuri truly understands. From out of nowhere Victor’s hand is on his cheek for the blink of an eye, wandering down his throat, his chest. Instead of concentrating on what he does, Yuuri allows himself to get lost in the sensuality of Victor’s touch, resembling a lover’s caress, allows himself to be enveloped by the divinity of the music. In all his happiness, self-assurance floods him, challenges his streaks of boldness.  For the first time today, his hands aren’t idle – or guided by Victor’s. They fly high into the air, against Victor’s chest, once he even twirls his tie around his finger. With his own boldness arising, Victor’s does, too, a matching smile on their faces; if it was planned originally, Yuuri doesn’t know the moment Victor even engages him into a pirouette, offering Yuuri the lead as he sinks down to perform a sit spin, the stretched leg brushing against Yuuri’s calf. Whilst Victor’s hands encircle his waist still, one of Yuuri’s arms moves to Victor’s neck. And so they spin, forgetting everything and the world around them, this moment etched forever into Yuuri’s mind. After completion of the figure, with Victor rising again, their faces are almost touching, their lips only inches away from each other.

It’s not dancing on the ice after that anymore; it’s flirting on the ice. Mutual, on eye-level. A dance of small suggestive touches and meaningful, erotic glances; of straying hands, lingering just a second too long to be on accident. It is fleeting embraces and bodies pressed together, with Yuuri inwardly cursing the tightness of his costume for obvious reasons. He nearly stumbles again when his thoughts go momentarily astray:  his costume perfectly matches Victor’s silver shade of hair, and Victor’s suit resembles his own black hair. It just can’t be coincidental, and is therefore more of Viktor's perfect choreography. 

The music rises yet again, to a thundering turmoil just as before, with Victor pulling him close by the waist for a moment before he lets go of him and sinks to his knees on the ice. Without being told, without being guided by Victor’s hands, Yuuri skates towards where Victor kneels, arms wide to embrace him with the most charming smile Yuuri ever saw. Yuuri sinks down into Victor’s arms, bending his entire body, with his head falling back as much as Victor, who now somehow is over him, allows it.

And then the music stops, leaving them looking at each other with wide eyes, panting heavily.

“Yuuri,” whispers Victor, the awkward nervousness from earlier still audible in his voice, and he leans forward, pressing his lips to Yuuri’s. A faint brush of skin against skin, slim fingers raking through his hair, the taste of Victor’s lip gloss upon his tongue, a strand of silver hair tickling his forehead.

Their first kiss, Yuuri’s very first kiss at the age of twenty-three, is electrifying – not because it’s perfect, not because it lasts forever; no, because it’s Victor who kisses him, soft and warm, and full of promises. Yuuri looks at him through hazy eyes, still watery with tears of happiness, and wants to say _‘lift me up’_ , because the position he’s in is quite uncomfortable, but finds that his voice forsakes him. How shall he speak when Victor’s lips seal his own anew, this time a little bit more demanding, questioning? How can he think, when Victor’s free hand skims his side? Kissing is an odd sensation, Yuuri thinks, as his eyes fall tightly shut, and still the warm velvety skin of Victor’s lips entices him. Something he will never tire of.

*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3\. The ending scene was inspired by the end of Tessa Virtue’s and Scott Moir’s 2010 Winter Olympics gold medal performance to Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No 5. [click](http://moirvirtue.tumblr.com/post/102924951271/theyre-like-a-fairytale/) (for the end figure) and [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oZG1cbrQtbQ) for the entire performance  
> 4\. Sochi banquet happened as it was gloriously shown in episode 10, and that is why Victor chose the song for his performance. It’s especially this line “The bird you thought you had caught beat its wings and flew away,” that made Victor think it’s the perfect song for what he wishes to show. Anyways, I am blathering again.. here’s the complete lyrics of the wonderful aria.
> 
>  Love is a rebellious bird  
> that nobody can tame,  
> and you call him quite in vain  
> if it suits him not to come.  
> Nothing helps, neither threat nor prayer.  
> One man talks well, the other’s mum;  
> it’s the other one that I prefer.  
> He’s silent but I like his looks. Love! Love! Love! Love!  
> Love is a gypsy’s child,  
> it has never, ever, known a law;  
> love me not, then I love you;  
> if I love you, you’d best beware!  
> The bird you thought you had caught  
> beat its wings and flew away …  
> love stays away, you wait and wait;  
> when least expected, there it is!  
> All around you, swift, so swift,  
> it comes, it goes, and then returns …  
> you think you hold it fast, it flees  
> you think you’re free, it holds you fast.  
> Love! Love! Love! Love!  
> Love is a gypsy’s child,  
> it has never, ever, known a law;  
> love me not, then I love you;  
> if I love you, you’d best beware!
> 
> Thanks to [NelyafinweFeanorion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NelyafinweFeanorion) who's equally infected by YOI for beta reading this chapter.
> 
> **Anyway .. i hope you liked this chapter, and as I won't be able to post before Christmas: HAPPY EPISODE 12 and MERRY CHRISTMAS!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri being 100% Yuuri sums it up best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Christmas holidays kept me from writing.

*

Warm water streams down Yuuri’s exhausted body, usually incredibly soothing, but not today. How should it be when Victor is all over in his mind, when Victor’s taste still lingers on his lips, the reminiscences of his touch sending sizzling sparks throughout his body? Yuuri had long lost count of just how many nights he had lain awake, dreaming about Victor touching him, kissing him.

And now, that Victor _had_ kissed him, Yuuri realizes how hollow his dreams had been, how they had lacked everything.

Still, Yuuri is Yuuri. Somewhere amidst the beauty of what happened between them conflicting thoughts arise.

_What if it was a great misunderstanding?_

It wasn’t. It was an entire choreography dedicated to this single moment.

_What if Victor is just teasing him, or worse: making fun of him?_

Yuuri knows, Victor would never do that; still he feels like hiding in the shower forever for the simple reason of forcing his shaking legs back to normal. At last, his skin already wrinkled, he decides he can’t behave like a five-year-old forever, and finally steps out of the shower with the towel wrapped around his waist.

_What if … Victor just .._

In the middle of Yuuri’s thoughts the door flings open, bumping against the lockers with a loud smash.

“Victor?” Yuuri wonders, clutching the towel around his waist as if his life depends on it, adding, “what are–” Victor usually never comes into the shower. Well, usually he doesn’t kiss Yuuri, either.

“Over here,” Victor says cheerfully, waving his arm high up in the air. That he interrupts Yuuri mid-sentence doesn’t seem to bother him, and Yuuri’s thankful for the chance to force his reeling mind back on track again. With little success, needless to say. The sight of Victor, dressed up like the guys in the fashion magazines Minako loves read, is one Yuuri struggles to deal with appropriately. At the rink when Yuuri skates it’s fine, because than his mind is completely diverted; when he’s not – well, then it’s like now, with Yuuri feeling as if a Shinkansen thunders right through his head.

Much to Yuuri’s relief Victor at least stops a few steps away from him, allowing him the space he so desperately needs. Yuuri’s helpless stare in Victor’s direction is bad enough when he’s fully dressed, wearing nothing else than the towel naturally makes it worse. Yuuri feels strangely exposed under Victor’s eyes, wondering why that is. _‘Does Victor look differently at me now?’_ Yuuri begins to wonder, forcing his feet into an awkward position to at least pretend to be as pretty as the poster boys are. _‘Does he want someone like those boys in those magazines?’_

By then, the towel is damp from Yuuri’s sweating hands alone.

For moments they simply stare at each other. “What are you doing here?” Yuuri asks carefully, his confidence – what confidence – evaporating. Maybe there had been a little glimpse of confidence that Victor’s experiment in pair skating had brought him – faltering now with every second Victor watches him from the distance. Despite the hard hours of training each day and being allowed Katsudon only at the weekends, he’s still too chubby for an athlete, which results in Yuuri sucking in his stomach, hoping that Victor doesn’t realize what he does and thinks he lost weight.

Feeling ridiculous, behaving ridiculous in front of the one he admires is a sad constant in Yuuri’s life.

The smile Victor gives him in return runs from ear to ear. Yuuri doesn’t understand. “Wondering what was taking you so long,” Victor says, then adds with exaggerated articulation so typical for him in certain moments, “wondering why you made me wait so long.” A shiver runs through Yuuri from head to toe. By now, Yuuri comes to understand it’s Victor being nervous. Not that it would occur all too often, no, because there’s no other with such a boosting self-confidence (well, there’s JJ, and there’s Chris too, but that’s different).

 _‘Why?’_ Yuuri keeps wondering. Why of all things is Victor nervous?

It’s needless to say that Victor displaying nervousness is – special. Everything about him is special, and it’s breathtakingly beautiful in a way Yuuri has never seen before. The more Yuuri thinks about it that way, the redder his face goes, because damn: with this look on his face he’s more beautiful than ever. 

“What?” asks Victor, smiling still that special smile of his, as he catches Yuuri staring at him with wide eyes. Like usual, Victor’s voice flitting cheerfully through the room radiates his good mood, almost succeeding at hiding the nervousness bubbling beneath it perfectly, in a way Yuuri never quite realized before. .

Victor’s always like this, no matter what time of the day it is, no matter where they are, and who is around, be it Yakov, Yuuri’s parents or half of Hasetsu. That’s what startles Yuuri most, because being reserved in public is as common in Japan as shrines and temples and the mobile charms to be bought there are. Well, there is one exception: when being drunk, even the reserved Japanese indulge in silly drinking games and hilarious exuberance, resulting in the most awkward displays of drunkenness on Hasetsu’s streets late at night. _‘Maybe I should try one day?’_ thinks Yuuri, forgetting about that idea immediately when Victor takes some steps towards him. 

In that moment, Victor’s words of what takes him so long come back Yuuri. “Err, I am sorry,” he says defensively, because Victor’s point is most likely a valid one. Losing track of time is something Yuuri is extraordinarily good at, especially after today’s events. He’s still dizzy, overwhelmed by what he experienced for the first time in his life,  his head spinning like the Ferris wheel at Hasetsu’s yearly fair. It spins all the more when suddenly Victor stands so very close to him, looking at him with his expressive eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Victor asks, tilting his head in what seems like slow-motion to Yuuri.

He answers way too rapidly with Victor being so near wrecking his brain. “Nothing.”

Victor quirks an eyebrow at him, deducing the lie easily. In fact, Yuuri was never good at lying with his body language always giving him away.

It’s so incredibly stupid, Yuuri knows, and mostly he says it because he’s at a loss of what else to say. “Why,” he begins, his voice faltering as his gaze meets Victor’s, warm and soft, and breathtaking, “why did you kiss me? I mean..”

Victor’s smile matches the radiance in his eyes. “Because I wanted to.”

Within a second, Yuuri turns into an even more nervous wreck. It’s impossible not to when Victor looks at him that way. “And.. why would you?” asks Yuuri, stammering, easily translating to ‘Why on earth would the legend Victor Nikiforov ever be interested in a Japanese second class skater who’s way too fat and anxious?’

Victor never tires of explaining it to Yuuri. Today, however, it sounds different to Yuuri’s ears. “Because I like you, I've liked you for a good while already. That is why I am here, Yuuri,” Victor says, taking the last step to bridge the distance between them, his hand sweeping briefly over Yuuri’s cheek, “because I’d like to kiss you again, properly this time, if you don’t mind.”

When words again fail him, Yuuri throws his arms around Victor’s neck, burying his head in the scarf Victor now wears. It smells of Victor more prominently than the t-shirt he once had snatched from Victor’s room.

“That’s not what I had in mind,” laughs Victor, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s still damp back.

“I’m sorry,” mumbles Yuuri, trying to shift his hips backwards without Victor observing it. There’s something distinct awakening between his thighs; something Yuuri’s terrible afraid of Victor noticing. It makes him anxious all over again and Yuuri forgets about the towel he’s not holding onto anymore.

“Don’t apologize, Yuuri. It’s fine, there’s no –” says Victor, stopping midsentence when the towel develops a life of its own and falls right onto Victor’s feet.

 _‘Just no,’_ thinks Yuuri, covering his front with both hands immediately as Victor is slipping out of his embrace. In the motion of it, Victor bends, retrieving the towel for Yuuri so that his head is on exact eye-level with Yuuri’s crotch. Right there where Yuuri wants him least, when he’s so obviously aroused by Victor simply standing in front of him, fully dressed.

Yuuri feels like crying. Or just dying out of sheer embarrassment, face glowing bright red in the glaring light. With an understanding smile, Victor offers Yuuri the towel back, still down there, with one knee actually touching the floor as Yuuri notices before he shuts his eyes tightly. He’s an anxious coward, unable to look down again because he doesn’t want to see the pity and disgust on Victor’s face, making his mind up what to do instead.

 _It’s enough, too much, too embarrassing, too_ – Yuuri’s eyes snap open, snatching the towel right out of Victor’s hand. Unsurprisingly, Victor’s eyes grow wide, too, shock and confusion and hurt flitting across his face. Without even caring to explain anything to Victor, Yuuri storms off towards the shower cabins, not even being able to care hiding his nudity.

“Yuuri,” Victor calls after him, genuinely confused, “why are you running away?”

The door of the cabin slams shut, with the distinct sound of locking it following.

“Yuuri?” Victor asks, as he places a knock against the door, adding, “please, unlock the door.”

Yuuri pretends not to be in there, though Victor’s plea is heartbreaking, something that makes Yuuri’s state of mind worse. In all his helpless misery Yuuri buries his face in his hand, hiding from what isn’t even inside the cabin.

Victor’s voice is persistently in Yuuri’s ear. “Please? I am sorry.”

Yuuri doesn’t answer, cannot answer with tears choking him mute, hands trembling against his cheeks. He feels tears running down his face and he angrily wipes them away, silently berating himself.

Why can’t he just act normal around Victor?

Why can’t he just act normal around _anybody_?

By now, Victor sounds frustrated. “Listen, Yuuri,” he offers, his voice calm, yet somehow still sounding different to Yuuri. “I am going to leave now and go about my business in Hasetsu so that you can come out of the shower again. Afterwards I’m going to the beach with the dogs, so I won’t be around at your house till late, I promise.”

Every single word makes Yuuri cry all the more. The sound of padding footsteps reaches his ear, with the door opening and falling shut again shortly after. All the while Yuuri listens for even the smallest sound. There’s none, only strange silence enwrapping him.

Five minutes go by, and then another five, until he dares to unlock the door, peeking outside.

As promised, there’s no Victor, only the rows of lockers greeting him. A sad picture of grim grey blending into yet another nuance of darker grey, dull compared to what he saw before.

It’s his own fault. Entirely his own.  He ruined everything yet again.

_‘Be proud of you, Katsuki Yuuri. Be proud,’ Yuuri said to himself._

With the end of the towel he rubs his watery eyes, before he finally gets dressed and leaves the Ice Castle with too much time to think about his stupid behavior.

 *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [NelyafinweFeanorion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NelyafinweFeanorion) who's equally infected by YOI for beta reading this chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first excursion into writing YOI fanfiction after years in Tolkien's universe. So bear with me :) 
> 
> I am on tumblr, feel free to say hi: [feanope](http://feanope.tumblr.com) for personal fandom mess, or [foolsonice](http://foolsonice.tumblr.com) for 100% YOI multishipping hell.


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